Fine clear morning and pleasant though cool. I went to the Office. Time occupied in writing and in Accounts. Engaged in answering and dispatching Notes, as well as a few more of my Pamphlets which still hang on my hands. My number on the Presidency appeared in this morning’s Paper.1 I believe for once with the aid of my correcting the proof, it is printed without a mistake. It reads pretty well.

Walk and then home where I was delighted with the thirteenth Satire of Juvenal. Afternoon at work upon the MSS. A very wearying occupation. I got through with a re-examination of all the old ones, and now I must prepare what I have already done for binding. Read Madame du Deffand and Voltaire, with a very little of Coleridge which appeared to me very flat and uninteresting. I wonder how it is some people can lash themselves into so great enthusiasm about him. Evening, T. K. Davis came in and spent a couple of hours. Conversation as usual but nothing new. I afterwards read a little of the life of Peter, but no work.